We All Fall Down
by DXM Junkie
Summary: I'm standing at the edge. On one side more unpromising days filled with broken hope on the other… salvation. An end to this all.


Sometimes, when he is drunk, I can here Bob cry.

I never know why he cries, but he does. He keeps me up all night with those rigid sobs. It makes me want to cry as well. It is usually after he slaps Merriam to keep her in her place, or after he beats me for not being good enough. I think how maybe he regrets what he does, but then again, he continues on with the slapping and the beatings anyway.

It is cold outside tonight. A lot colder because I am barefoot and only wearing a skirt and a tee-shirt despite the fact it is November 3rd. My birthday.

The water below me must be freezing. This amuses me. Perhaps the water will carry all my problems away, if I was only brave enough to jump.

You could say that in the past year, I've lost everything. My best friend, who simply pushed me aside in her life after she started dating Gerald, my family, who doesn't know I'm there unless I do something wrong, and the boy that I loved with all my heart, who now has a girlfriend by the name of Lila.

All the strings that kept me strong left, only leaving a shell of a now 17-year-old girl. What would there be to miss, except maybe a memory or two?

I wonder how long it would take for them to even miss me. I wonder how many hours or even days it will be before they even notice I'm not there… I'm so cold right now. God, my skin is aching for warmth.

Did you know, that no one in my entire life has even told me that they loved me? I shiver. No one could love a bitch like me anyway. I lean into the railing of the cold metal dock and start to sing myself the birthday song. The rain is pouring all around me, making the waves below me crash on the shore. I can't even hear my own voice as it lulls a song.

I think about what my home is doing right now. Bob is probably smashing a bottle over Merriam's head. Probably a bottle of Bud Light, because I know that is the beer he drink during night's that he cries. I don't like to cry. It makes me hit rock bottom. I find myself crying now. Rock bottom.

Maybe when I'm gone they will miss me. Maybe they will wonder why I did it. They would never have any clues… all traces of me living in my home are next-to-nothing. My empty white room with a mattress on the floor, a lamp and a clock. My closet with a few shirts on hanger and pairs of jeans thrown on the floor. My pink book long since burned, my poetry no more, my feeling never expressed in anything. They are all inside me, crippling memories… Chaos.

The rain is so fucking cold… My skin is now tainted pink. I wonder if during the autopsy of my body if they will notice the thick scars tracing up and down both of my arms. They only things that show just how fucked up I was in life. Maybe they will think that I hurt myself so that people would notice me. Pity me. Maybe they will think I did it because I was desperately trying not to be invisible. I still am invisible now. I bet if someone walked onto this dock to smoke a cigg or something under a safe umbrella, they wouldn't even give this lanky girl a second glance. They would simply shrug and say, "Teen these days."

I feel my frozen fingers trace patters upon my arms. I hope that when I have my tombstone saying my life in a few words it will say something like, "Helga Pataki, November 3rd 1988 - November 3rd 2005. It's all just a dream- and when I wake up everything will be ok."

I would like that. It would be enough for me to be dead for good. People could forget about me then. Not that they won't anyway. Maybe Bob will beat Merriam for being drunk all the time and not noticing me, despite the fact that would be such a hypocrite thing to do.

Maybe Phoebe would cry on Gerald's shoulder and people in my school would wonder just what went wrong. Maybe they would later discuss the black eye I died with or the lashes on my back that look suspiciously like whip beatings.

Maybe they won't do any of that. Maybe.

I feel the rain drain off my soaked black skirt and hit my bright red bare feet. Red as my arms, red as my love for this darkness. I can't feel my fingers dance upon why wrists anymore. I don't know if it's because I stopped tracing my scars or if I just can't feel my body anymore.

A large bold of lighting hits the ocean followed by thunder. Thunder which reminds me of what Dr. Bliss once told me, "You have so much inside, you have to let it out, Release it."

I guess I'm just following my therapist's advice by doing this. I'm letting out all the thunder and lightning by doing this. I'm releasing all my emotions. I am now shaking, gently testing my courage by leaning even more over the railing. The rain is pounding so hard on my back that I'm sure it would be stinging if I wasn't so numb.

Gathering all my courage I feel my body haul itself onto the railing. I'm now standing on that edge. On one side, more unpromising days filled with screaming and broken hope, on the other… salvation. An end to this all. The thunder booms again and I stare down into the waves. The railing is thick so I can stand easily without tipping.

I'm thankful for this. I want to take my time. It is finally my moment to do something selfish. My moment to do what I've thought about doing for such a long time. I raise my hand up and brush a few strands of wet hair behind my ear.

I'm not ready to die just yet, soon, but not yet. I want to think. I want to remember for the last time things that happened in my life, things that will be completely lost after I'm just another corpse. Just another statistic.

I think of the time Phoebe came crying to me about how she wanted to tell Gerald how she felt. I think of the countless hours I spend in my shower, crying, and wiping away the filth that still hasn't left my body. I think of how Arnold showed me kindness that day in preschool with his umbrella. His little glimpse of hope. I let myself revel on this hope…

Then I think of how weak I am. How I wish I could go back and change things. How I would be standing here right now if in the past I had done this or that differently. I think of how I'm going to die with people's only thought was, "God, she was a bitch."

For a moment though, I don't think. I simply erase everything from my mind and spread my arms, like a bird ready to fly away to a better hate. I hope hell is at least warmer than I am right now. I hope that I won't be hated even more for doing this…

"Helga!" A voice echo's in the distance. I can't really hear it because of the rain and the thunder and the crashing waves. Pounding like Bob when he cries. I think it's all in my imagination but I hear my name called again. I let my head twist around slightly and see a few faces that I was trying not to recall in this moment of empty thoughts.

It's Pheobe, Arnold, and Gerald. I try not to roll my eyes… how predictable that someone shows up. Maybe I should just jump now before they have a change to stop me. I pause.

They look shocked, scared, surprised. Why shouldn't they be? They don't know me… they are nothing more than acquaintances. They don't know about Olga calling me a bitch or my father beating me or about me hating all of them silently.

"Helga," its Arnolds voice, "Come down from there." He is desperately trying to sound calm. I almost sigh this time. Leave it up to him to play hero. Leave it up to him to care about someone just because.

I know he doesn't care. He's just doing his civic duty. He doesn't want to have to see Gerald comfort Phoebe. Through a friend of a friend of a friend. He's not directly thinking about me, just about others who think of me. I turn my head around and continue to stare at the ocean, my arms no longer eagle-spread. I am teetering now.

"Please Helga!" Phoebe's voice calls out, "Come down from there!" She is sounding desperate. She doesn't want to see someone jump to their death. It's her fault anyways for showing up though. If I chose to die with her watching, she should have known not to come anyway.

I find myself so wrapped up in my thoughts for a moment that I don't feel two arms grasp around my legs and pull me back. My eyes go wide and I feel myself tumble into a set of warm arms. Arms from the person who I wanted to be the first to tell me that they loved me. Loved me like no one else does.

He is squeezing me tightly asking me stupid questions like "Why would you want to do that!" Why? Because.

I had it all so planned in my head I forget he can't hear my thoughts. Gerald is on one side of me now, touching my arm. I can feel him stare at my scars. Phoebe is on the other side, sobbing. She is also asking me why.

Suddenly I feel my body pulled up, bridal style into the damn hero's arms. I feel rather angry and with all my strength I push against his torso and in surprise I fall out of his arms and hit the hard dock with a thud.

I look up at him and glare. "You should fucking mind your own business." I bite. My red feet and hands feel the cold hard wood beneath me. He looks at me softy, with pity. I hate pity. Pity is Bob's tears, Pity is Dr. Bliss asking me "How do you feel?" about this or that.

"Not if that would mean letting you take your life!" He tells me, in this almost earnest tone. He leans forward to pick me up again and I flinch. He sees this and pauses. "Why?" he asks.

I just look up at him. I must have seemed so pathetic. Like a freak. I decide to throw him off on a loop. Why not, when as soon as I get them to leave me alone I'm going to be right back here, thinking, ready to die.

I give him a smile. A soft smile, the best one I can give. "Because." I tell him. Phoebe is now practically in hysterics. I feel the warmth of her body suddenly wrap around my thin frame, even thinner since I stopped eating. She is sobbing, telling me pleasantries.

What nice weather were having. What a great day to kill yourself, right?

I ignore her sobs and look up into the sky. I watch as Arnold takes off his Letterman's jacket and puts it around me, again attempting at picking me up. This time, I let him. I know I'll probably die of hypothermia by tomorrow anyway. Why not make hero-boy's day?

Let him gloat, "Oh, I sure did try my best to save her, too bad she was just so stupid and weak. Yep!"

He is now walking towards the direction of his house. Gerald keeps looking at me and Phoebe is clutching Arnold's arm. I see him wince in discomfort as she dips her sharp nails into his flesh and give a glance at her.

"Phoebe," Her eyes are on mine instantly, "Let his arm go, your piercing his flesh."

She does so immediately, shocked that I would say something so odd at a time like this. It doesn't seem odd to me off course. Nothing ever does. I sigh and glare at my red hands. He is almost to his house. His house is closer to the docks than mine is. When Bob tried to force himself on me earlier and I ran out of it without even putting my shoes on, it took me almost 10 minutes to get to the docks.

I had been cold and out of breath. Now I'm just cold. I lean my head into his chest, not really having enough strength to try and keep it lifted. I see Gerald open Arnold's front door, and feel as Arnold steps up the stoop that we used to play on as children.

That seems so long ago, like an eternity. Next time I found myself at the docks that would be one of things I would remember before I plunge into salvation. My childhood. Perhaps it would give me incentive or just hold me back. I go for the latter.

Scratch that idea.

Arnold is now hauling me up the stairs. I know I must seem sickeningly light to him because he gives a glance down at me.

"Jeeze," He must be thinking, "I have a fucking suicidal bully in my arms, a cutter, and a fucking anorexic? Must be my day…"

I think I have ESP because he sighs. That's exactly what he must have been thinking. I see his blue room, the exact same as the last time I was in it, almost 5 years ago. Count on Arnold to never change. He deposits me on his bed like I'm a pillow or something, and Gerald grabs a towel. I see Pheobe grab the phone to call 911 or her parents. She mutters something about staying over at a friend's house and hangs up.

I glare at Arnold as he tries to wipe off some of the water. "I don't need your help." I say, rolling my eyes and ignoring the towel just to spite him and be difficult. Gerald is leaning against the wall by the door saying something like, "Yah you do."

Arnold stands up and walks over to his dresser by his computer and grabs out a pair of sweatpants and a long sleeved tee-shirt. He asks me to change. Quietly. I don't know why, maybe he is afraid I won't. My body is red and I have those annoying bumps on my arms and legs.

Sighing, I peel off my soaked shirt right in front of them and let them see my scarred body. The lashes, the bruises, the cuts. I look back at their gawking form, peeling my hair back so they can see my black eyes and busted lip. "What?" I ask, and they all avert their eyes.

Inwardly I smile. They want to act like up-tight bitches and 'save me' from something I wanted to happen, don't expect me to be all, 'Thank you so much, I can't believe I wanted to do something so horrible.'

After the shirt is on I stand up and let my black skirt fall to my ankles. Stepping out of it, I see Gerald and Arnold desperately trying not to look at me, Arnold with a blush on his face. This must be one of those awkward moments that I always read about in books.

Pulling the strap around my waste tightly, I kick my wet clothes into a pile and sit back on his bed. I feel the silence around me, probably uncomfortable to them, but perfectly fine by me.

Silence is a virtue, to those who understand it. I understand it. Silence is the opposite of screaming. It can grant insomnia or sleep. Perhaps both. Instead of Merriam's screams or Bob's cries or the thunder, you can only hear that pleasant ringing in your ears of damaged goods.

"Helga," Gerald breaks the silence, "Why did you try to…" He trails off. "Kill myself?" I finish for him, only to be rewarded by bland stares.

I play with the idea of poking their eye's out for a moment and then decide to reply, "Why not?"

Arnold suddenly looks pissed, like he would have rather had some elegant answer of rape and torture. Something he could use when he's gloating. "This is NOT a joke Helga!" He practically screams.

"Can I just go to sleep now?" I ask, wanting desperately to do just that. Arnold's eyes soften and he nods.

"You can sleep on my bed…" He tells me, "Pheebs, Gerald, can you guys share the couch?" They both nod. Arnold walks over to where Gerald was standing and sits down, resting his head on one of the steps. I guess he wants to make sure I don't sneak out in the middle of the night and try again. That is one thing I have no intention of doing. Pulling his comforter around my body I stare up through the window that is his ceiling.

The rain has lightened up. I stare at it with a blank expression for a long time. Almost 15 minutes. I can hear both Phoebe and Gerald softly snore, and I know that if they had been any other person, they would have been up all night. Sighing, before I let myself drift off to sleep, I let my quiet voice drift up… It sounds broken, sad.

"_Happy Birthday to me…_

_  
Happy Birthday to me…_

_Happy Birthday 'Worthless Child….'_

_Happy Birthday to me."_

I would never know that Arnold didn't sleep a wink that night. He only stared at me, and tried not to cry.

_((How long would it take for her to realize her life wasn't perfect? How long would it take for her to finally lose everything?))_


End file.
